


back to the spines

by orphan_account



Series: young adult friction [7]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Convenience store!AU, F/M, Grantaire and Enjolras now both work at the corner shop, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, Multi, cosette is a badass, courfeyrac is an idiot, jehan has a good soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras won't admit it but he's starting to warm up to Grantaire, Jehan and Courfeyrac are starting to have a Thing (complete with a lot of drama), Combeferre is lamenting all his life decisions, Feuilly and Bahorel are here to Fuck Shit Up, and Montparnasse is an arsehole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. teenage dreams in a teenage circus

The day Enjolras is set to start work, Éponine manages it so that Grantaire is the one who will have to show him the ropes (and Grantaire is going to kill her later for this, he really is).

Enjolras is showered, dressed and out of the door before Joly or Combeferre have even stirred from their sleep, and when Grantaire turns the corner and arrives at the front door, it’s to the sight of Enjolras leaning against the wall, absently picking at his fingernails.

“Good morning Enjolras.”

Enjolras looks up, and either he has had a rough night or Grantaire’s simply never noticed this before, but his eyes are red rimmed like how is own are most days, and he’s guessing Enjolras had a sleepless night.

“Did you get enough sleep?” he asks.

Enjolras abruptly pushes himself off the wall. “More than Joly did, at any rate. He was up late skyping with Bossuet. I could hear them through the wall.”

Grantaire snorts, and moves beside Enjolras to unlock the store.

“For the record,” he says over his shoulder, “you don’t need to come so early. Even I’m early today, and I don’t know how long you’ve been standing here waiting for me but it’s not necessary.”

“I like being early,” says Enjolras with a sniff, “shows dedication.”

Grantaire is not even going to make a joke about that one.

 

* * *

 

All right, he admits, Enjolras is good. A quick learner, competent, professional, and he doesn’t even complain when Grantaire sets him to pricing all the new stock and rearranging the shelves, even when it’s the feminine hygiene aisle.

“You’re actually insane, did you know that?” Grantaire calls from the till, where he’s organizing the shelves of tobacco. Enjolras looks over at Grantaire and stands up so fast he smacks his head against a box of tampons on the shelf, and Grantaire doubles over laughing. When he looks up again, Enjolras is rubbing his head and glaring.

Once all the preparation work has been done for the morning and Grantaire has flipped the sign in the window over to say OPEN, he settles himself on the stool behind the till and pulls out a sketchbook. Curious, Enjolras peeks over his shoulder.

“You’re good.”

Grantaire starts, and snaps the book shut quickly. Enjolras looks at him. Grantaire looks back.

“ _Excuse_ you.”

“What? I was just looking.”

“It’s not finished yet.”

Enjolras looks crestfallen. “I’m not allowed to see it until it’s done?”

Grantaire makes a face. “Yes. And even then, you’re not allowed to see it.”

“Oh. Okay then.” And surprisingly, he doesn’t seem to press the matter, but wanders off to peruse the aisles again. There’s never a lot of morning traffic, and at the moment the street outside is relatively quiet.

Grantaire flips open the sketchbook again. Truth be told, it wasn’t that he didn’t want Enjolras to see his work. It was the fact that the face he was sketching was rapidly gaining a mop of blond curls, and there’s no way he’s going to explain that.

He’s halfway through an enthusiastic rendition of Adele’s _Rolling in the Deep_ , eyes closed and arms swinging, when another voice joins his. Grantaire stops singing immediately, and listens to Enjolras. He’s got a good voice. A _really_ good voice. He feels himself blushing as Enjolras keeps going, and eventually the song ends and a commercial starts playing on the radio.

He can’t actually see Enjolras behind the aisles, and somehow he’s grateful for that, because right now Grantaire is red and attempting not to grin like a lunatic.

A brief silence, then: “So how did you and Éponine meet?”

Grantaire picks up his sketchbook and resumes drawing the curve of an eye, hands shaking slightly. “Met her when she applied here. We’ve known each other for about a year and a half.”

“You’ve worked here a long time then.”

“Yep. It’s dull but doesn’t require any effort. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well you’re a pretentious Parisian, I know that much. When did you meet Combeferre and Courfeyrac? And Jehan too, I know he’s from Paris as well.”

“I’ve known Combeferre since I was ten. And we met Courfeyrac in… what do you call it…? Junior high. Then we lived together and I met Prouvaire around the last year of high school.”

“And all four of you moved here? Across continents?” Grantaire is surprised.

Enjolras reappears around a shelf of rice crackers and shrugs. “Combeferre’s parents were technically my legal guardians when they decided to move, even though I was nineteen. Part of my parent’s wishes. Jehan and Courf came with us because there was nothing for them back in France. When we moved we met Feuilly, and Bossuet, and Joly, and Bahorel, and then eventually Marius. Well, Courfeyrac met Marius.”

“Oh, Marius,” laughs Grantaire. “Éponine never shuts up about him, even though she has no chance now, now that he and Cosette are together.”

“They could break up.”

“Have you even seen them together? The day Marius and Cosette break up will be the day Jehan stops writing poetry, Bossuet wins the lottery, and I quit drinking.”

Enjolras smiles uncomfortably.

“Well look who it is,” says a thin voice, and Enjolras’ head whips round. The man who has just entered is of medium height with short black hair that culminates in the very beginnings of sideburns on his cheeks, red lips and pale skin. He’s attractive, in a cold, cruel way. Enjolras looks back at Grantaire, who is glaring at the man with a look that could kill.

“Hel- _lo_ , Grantaire.”

“Montparnasse.”

Enjolras starts. So this is Montparnasse.

“And how are we doing today, my dear _'Taire_?”

“Buy something or leave. And I’m watching you; don’t think you’re gonna steal something while I’m working.”

Montparnasse makes a mocking child face. “But 'Ponine always lets me have things. Puts it on her tab.”

“Well Éponine’s not here right now is she?”

“You’re so _mean_ to me, R.” Montparnasse’s tone is high and mocking, and Enjolras wants to intervene but thinks it’s probably better he doesn’t.

“You wanna take this outside, 'Parnasse? I’ll let you know right now, I’ve been practicing.”

Enjolras frowns at Grantaire, but Grantaire’s attention is solely focused on Montparnasse.

Montparnasse laughs. “You and your athletics. What _sportsmanship._ Me? I prefer quick and easy.” His hands play around near the cuffs of his blazer jacket, and Enjolras feels a stab of panic at the implication that he has a knife up there, and is about to whip it out.

Instead, Montparnasse walks straight up to the counter and Enjolras makes a move to get closer, but an almost imperceptible shake of Grantaire’s head leaves him where he is. Montparnasse rests his elbows on the plastic and leans close to Grantaire’s ear.

“Blondie over there? Good catch,” he whispers.

Grantaire scowls, pushing Montparnasse away. He laughs.

“See ya around, Grantaire.”

The door swings shut behind him, and Enjolras turns to look at Grantaire.

“I don’t know what she sees in him,” Grantaire mutters, and stalks off to the back room.

 

* * *

 

Despite the Montparnasse incident, the rest of the day actually goes pretty well, and Enjolras enjoys himself, although he’ll never admit that to the others.

He arrives home around half past four, and when he returns Combeferre, Joly and Bossuet are all sitting on the couch watching _Sherlock._

“I thought you’d seen that before?”

“I’ve never seen it,” replies Bossuet, who is slurping bubble tea rather noisily.

“Oh.”

“So,” says Combeferre, who appears to be smirking, “how was your first day at work?”

“It was… tolerable.”

“What about working with Grantaire?” asks Joly.

“He is tolerable.”

Bossuet snorts, and sends half his bubble tea down his shirt. Enjolras smirks at him in victory, and disappears into his room.

“I think Enjolras is hiding something,” announces Joly.

“No way.” Combeferre’s voice is dryly sarcastic.

There’s a knock at the door, and Combeferre pushes himself up to go get it.

It’s Marius and Courfeyrac, and on Marius’ arm is a beautiful young woman with hair the colour of sunflowers and a delicate face. She’s wearing a floral print sundress and a big straw hat.

“Hello!” she announces cheerfully, as Combeferre moves to let them in and ignores Courfeyrac’s excited grin and pointing hand gestures. “I’m Cosette.”

Courfeyrac is still flapping his arms about as Marius goes to sit beside Cosette on the couch, and Joly goes to the kitchen to fetch them drinks as Combeferre silently whacks Courfeyrac upside the head.

“What are we watching?” she asks.

“ _Sherlock_ ,” replies Bossuet.

She looks again. “Oh yes, so we are! I watched the whole thing when it first came out. Must admit though, I prefer _Elementary_.” She then proceeds to launch into a long discourse on the differences between the two adaptations and their portrayals of women and feminism.

Combeferre smiles at Marius, who smiles radiantly back. Now he can understand Marius’ devotion to her.

He also hopes Enjolras doesn’t come out of his bedroom and join the conversation.

 

* * *

 

♕ **courf** ♕ **:**   cosette is beauuuuuuuuuuuuuutiful  
 **Combeferre:** yes she is. she’s also dating marius and you’re courting jehan.  
♕ **courf** ♕ **:**  dude i wasnt trying to pull moves on her i was just saying i think marius is a v. lucky guy.  
 **Combeferre:** I see.  
♕ **courf** ♕ **:**  u also nvr asked me how my time with jehan went  
 **Combeferre:** I assumed you were going to tell me anyway.  
♕ **courf** ♕ **:**   r00d. well it went gr8, we got drinks and food and jehan sung along and he was rly cute augh  
 **Combeferre:** good. did he enjoy himself?  
♕ **courf** ♕ **:**   he said he did  
 **Combeferre:** well as your best friend, i hereby offer my congratulations for a successful first date.  
♕ **courf** ♕ **:** how come i never know if ur being sarcastic or not

♕ **courf** ♕ **:** did u know éponine and cosette know each other?  
 **Jehan Prouvaire** **✿** **:** Wait what?  
♕ **courf** ♕ **:** yeah i was talking to cosette and mentioned ponine and apparently they totally used to be best friends bc cosette lived with ponine’s parents as a foster kid before her dad adopted her  
 **Jehan Prouvaire** **✿** **:** ooh. Does marius know that?  
♕ **courf** ♕ **:** knowing him prob not. also my birthdays coming up and im stuck 4 ideas. any help?  
 **Jehan Prouvaire** **✿** **:** how about a fancy dress party?  
♕ **courf** ♕ **:** dude ur genius i could kiss u rn  
 **Jehan Prouvaire** **✿** **:** (blushes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I survived finals week!
> 
> Also I'm not sure if people have noticed, but I've been attempting to keep as much brick!canon as I can, hence why Courfeyrac and Marius are close and not Enjolras and Marius, Bossuet is always over at other people's houses (especially Joly's), and Grantaire is fairly athletic.
> 
> Regarding the use of "Taire" as a nickname for Grantaire... considering it's a French verb that basically means "to shut up", I'm not a big fan of it in fics. However, Montparnasse calls Grantaire that because he knows exactly what it means and he likes pissing people off.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading/Merci de lire.
> 
> For fic notes, drabbles, questions and possible spin offs, hit me up at [tumblr](http://combeferresque.tumblr.com).


	2. running around like a clown on purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Courfeyrac throws a birthday party, Enjolras and Grantaire both end up in dresses, and nothing goes quite as it should. Also, Bahorel needs to watch _The Lion King_ again.

**Courfeyrac:** its my birthday on sat and ur invited! due to popular demand (see: jehan), everyone must pick a partner and come in costume. its famous duets night so come as a well-known duet from tv or a book or something idek just bring me booze too that works as a present  
 **Combeferre:** oh dear.  
 **Bahorel:** DUDE YES  
 **Joly:** …i’ll be there  
 **Marius:** yes! i will ask cosette  
 **Grantaire:** is this normal 4 u. ok im coming  
 **Jehan:** you know I’ll be there why did you text me  
 **Feuilly:** i’m going to punch jehan what do you mean, duets night  
 **Cosette:** sounds exciting!! :)  
 **Bossuet:** remember your last birthday when I almost fell off a balcony. also joly and i are inviting musichetta i know you dont have her number  
 **Éponine:** if I can get that night off work I’ll come.  
 **Enjolras:** My phone was off. Sorry.

 

* * *

 

A frantic text battle begins. There are thirteen of them, which means someone is going to have to go alone and no one, not even Enjolras (who is arguably the least interested) wants to go solo to a Courfeyrac party.

 **Grantaire** _[to Éponine] **:**_ im thinking bonnie + clyde ok  
 **Éponine:** dude i’m already going with someone sorry  
 **Grantaire:** wait wtf who  
 **Éponine:** u’ll see ;)

 **Musichetta** _[to Jehan] **:**_ Jehan darling I’m afraid Joly and Bossuet have abandoned me  
 **Jehan:** abandoned a beautiful lady like yourself? Shame on them. You’ll just have to go with me.

 **Courfeyrac** _[to Jehan] **:**_ do u want to go with me je sais que tu veut  
 **Jehan:** sorry I’m going with musichetta :c  
 **Courfeyrac:** …oh

 **Courfeyrac** _[to Combeferre] **:**_ bro help me u gotta go with me  
 **Combeferre:** go with Jehan  
 **Courfeyrac:** i cant he’s going with musichetta already. my own goddamn party  
 **Combeferre:** marius?  
 **Courfeyrac:** oh he’ll be going with cosette.  
 **Courfeyrac:** why don’t u wanna go with me? 8CCC  
 **Combeferre:** Enjolras told me i was going with him.  
 **Courfeyrac:** oh.

 **Bahorel** _[to Feuilly] **:**_ u kno what this means dont u  
 **Feuilly:** if you mean that im stuck with ur sorry ass… yeah I do.  
 **Bahorel:** gr8

 **Grantaire** _[to Marius and Courfeyrac] **:**_ so apparently I’ve been abandoned by ép so ??  
 **Marius:** I’ve been abandoned by Cosette ):  
 **Grantaire:** ok u’ll do  
 **Courfeyrac:** i’ll go with you  
 **Grantaire:** 2 late bro  
 **Courfeyrac:** fuck

 **Courfeyrac** _[to everyone] **:**_ so now i have to go alone to my own party thx guys i really appreciate it so now im going as gandalf and U SHALL NOT PASS  
 **Éponine:** you’re welcome. also that means no one will come.  
 **Courfeyrac:** crap

 

* * *

 

When Courfeyrac opens the door Saturday night half drowning in a grey bed sheet, his pointed Gandalf hat slipping over his eyes, he is not prepared for the sight of Cosette and Éponine dressed as Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly respectively. He’s so not prepared for it that his gaze manages to land on Cosette’s chest area for longer than is appropriate and Éponine smacks him sharply across the cheek.

“Welcome ladies,” he gestures towards the living room, rubbing his sore cheek with one hand. “I’m afraid you’re the first to arrive. Marius and Jehan went out to collect their, uh, dates. I thought Marius would be returning with you though, Cosette.”

Cosette smiles, her hair carefully crimped and gelled down into a 20s bob. “Éponine asked me before Marius did, and it was such a good idea I couldn’t resist. He was a little disappointed though and I do feel a little bad about it.”

Courfeyrac shrugs. “He’ll get over it. Wonder who he’s bringing though.”

Ten minutes later, as Éponine and Cosette sip cocktails and chat at the kitchen table, there are four sharp raps at the door. This time it’s Bossuet and Joly, Bossuet sporting a Sherlock Holmes-esque deerstalker and Joly wearing a bowler hat and fake glasses. They’re both in long trenchcoats.

“Let me guess,” says Courfeyrac dryly, “Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson?”

“Elementary my dear Courfeyrac,” replies Bossuet, as he trips over the shoe rack.

When Jehan and Musichetta arrive, elegantly dressed as Mark Antony and Cleopatra, a game of blackjack has commenced and Cosette appears to be thoroughly trouncing everyone else. Éponine is smoking a cigarette, holding it artistically in a cigarette holder, and blowing smoke deliberately into Joly’s face, who keeps scrunching up his nose.

“May I present her Highness Queen Cleopatra of Egypt, Lady of the Two Lands, Mistress of Sedge and Bee,” announces Jehan, who is wearing fake armour and a tunic that leaves his thighs relatively bare (and Courfeyrac’s definitely not peeking, _definitely_ not). Musichetta, her black hair coiled and her face made up immaculately, curtsies and everyone bows low.

“You look wonderful!” cries Bossuet, and runs to embrace her. Joly is sitting at the table, completely unaware that his cards are visible to the other players, resting his chin in his palm and smiling.

The door goes again, and Combeferre, who is dressed in a long toga and fake beard steps through the door. He is accompanied by a blonde woman in similar Greek dress, and it takes everyone a solid minute before the blonde woman opens her mouth and Enjolras says, “oh for heaven’s sake I’m Sappho.”

“The Greek poet?” asks Éponine.

“Yes.”

“Then who the hell is Combeferre?” demands Courfeyrac.

“He’s Socrates.”

“For fuck’s sake, Enjolras. You’re meant to be a famous duet. How are Socrates and Sappho a famous duet?”

“They’re not,” replies Enjolras stubbornly. “I asked Combeferre which philosopher he admired the most and I decided to go as a famous poet.”

“But why are you crossdressing?” asks Joly.

“The deconstruction of traditional gender norms is a very important issue and if I can help subvert it, I will.”

Courfeyrac sighs and goes to get himself a beer.

It’s another half an hour before the door goes again, and when Combeferre opens it Feuilly and Bahorel stumble through the door, Feuilly wearing a giant Timon head and Bahorel in a Pumbaa one.

“Oh sweet lord in heaven.”

“Hakuna patata,” says Bahorel, as he steps through the door and takes the head off, tossing it into a corner. “Where’s the fucking booze?”

 

* * *

 

They all sit at the table and on the couch, awaiting Grantaire and Marius’ arrival. Cosette has long since won blackjack and is counting her winnings, Combeferre shuffling the cards, while Éponine and Musichetta talk animatedly over a glass of wine each. Joly and Bossuet are eating  the party snacks and Bahorel is rifling through the DVD collection, Feuilly watching him abstently from the couch, beer in hand. Enjolras is also sitting on the couch, fiddling with the stuffing down his shirt and ignoring Feuilly’s smirk.

“Courf, all your movies are shit,” Bahorel says, as Courfeyrac emerges from the bathroom, scratching his fake Gandalf beard. “How come you don’t have anything good- wait, the hell is this?” he pulls one out and peers at it. “ _Inglourious Basterds._ Dude. _Dude_ we are watching this.”

“That one’s Marius’,” replies Courfeyrac, just as Enjolras says, “I love that film.”

There’s a pause as everyone turns to look at him, then Combeferre quietly mutters, “of course you do.”

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door, and Feuilly jumps.

“That’ll be Marius and Grantaire,” he smiles, taking a sip of his beer.

They hear a scuffling at the door.

“Did Marius forget his key again?” asks Courfeyrac to Jehan, as he goes to open it. He grasps the door handle, and pulls it open.

Marius, dressed in a long 1700s coat and powdered wig, walks through the door nervously. He spots Enjolras and freezes.

“Mozart?” asks Bossuet from the table. “No, Robespierre.”

“Let them eat cake,” comes a voice from behind him, and out steps Grantaire in a voluminous dress and tall wig. He’s put makeup on, and is holding a paper fan. He sees Enjolras in his robe, flutters his eyelashes, and pushes Marius towards the table.

Everyone freezes. Enjolras slowly gets up from the couch.

“Grantaire,” he asks, with a very cold and dangerous tone to his voice, “did you and Marius come as Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette?”

Grantaire smiles. “Got it in one, Apollo.”

Enjolras makes an almost imperceptible gesture, and Courfeyrac launches himself at him, half tripping over the robe as he does so.

“Enjolras, you are not going to attack Grantaire for coming as a member of the French royalty. It’s my birthday, okay, and if anyone gets into a fight with anyone else I am going to _castrate_ them.” He smiles pointedly at him.

Enjolras breathes. And relaxes in Courfeyrac’s arms. Then he sits down again.

“Anyone for another drink?” interrupts Éponine.

 

* * *

 

After Grantaire and Enjolras’ almost stand-off, everyone relaxes. Marius puts on _Inglourious Basterds_ and they all sit down to watch, swapping drinks and commenting on the merits of Tarantino’s filmmaking and relative lack of historical accuracy. Enjolras pointedly sits as far away from Grantaire as possible, and helps himself to Feuilly’s bottle of tequila.

The movie ends and after a few rounds of truth or dare and a few conversations regarding feminism and politics, most of them have had far too much to drink. Combeferre pulls himself to his feet, and offers to take Éponine home, who agrees. Musichetta decides to leave a little bit later, taking Joly and Bossuet back with her, and Marius reaches his hand out for Cosette, who complies. By 2am only Feuilly, Bahorel, Jehan, Courfeyrac, Enjolras and Grantaire are left. When Marius returns and retires to his bedroom, Bahorel suggests a game of gay chicken, or more like how-awkward-can-we-make-this-for-everyone, and with everyone in various stages of inebriation, there’s not a whole lot of protesting.

It starts off fairly innocently, but when Courfeyrac drunkenly slides his hand up Feuilly’s thigh and Grantaire grabs Jehan in retaliation, suddenly it’s not so innocent anymore. Bahorel, who is not to be outdone in his own game, slinks one hand under Feuilly’s and ends up awkwardly straddling him.

Part of Enjolras’ brain is telling him that he needs to leave the situation before it gets out of hand, and part of his brain is telling him to sort out the stuffing in the bra he borrowed from Musichetta which is rapidly sliding down his dress. When he woozily drags himself to the bathroom, Grantaire, who has definitely had too much vodka to drink, follows.

Enjolras stands looking in the mirror under the harsh yellow light, fiddling around with the stuffing in his robe. He looks up as Grantaire awkwardly maneuvers himself and the dress through the doorway.

“What do you want, Grantaire?”

“I’m sorry.”

Enjolras looks around in surprise.

“I’m sorry, okay. I thought it would be hilarious to go as someone I know you’d hate; just to piss you off, because somehow… somehow I think that’s the only way you take notice of me really. But it was a mistake and… and I think I’ve had too much to drink.” He staggers forward, and Enjolras knows he’s about to collapse.

He grabs Grantaire awkwardly around the waist as he flops to the ground, noticing that underneath the layers of fabric, Grantaire is wearing a corset. He shakes his head and removes the weird mental image from his mind.

Grantaire is clutching Enjolras’ arm fiercely. “Have you noticed… we’re both crossdressing?” he laughs feebly, and pitches forward, resting his forehead against Enjolras’ chest.

Enjolras looks down at him for a moment, and slowly pulls the wig off, revealing Grantaire’s curly black hair, flattened slightly by the wig. He’s still holding his arm so tightly it hurts, murmuring softly under his breath, and Enjolras bends down and gently kisses the top of his head.

 

* * *

 

When Courfeyrac awakes the next morning, it’s to the sun blaring through the open blinds. He pulls himself to his feet and groans, holding a hand to his head. His brain is killing him.

Near his feet are Feuilly and Bahorel, who are half curled around each other and half curled around the remains of his Gandalf beard. Jehan, Enjolras and Grantaire have vanished, but when he makes his way over to the bathroom to rinse out his mouth, he almost trips over Grantaire, still in his dress, flopped out on the carpet outside the bathroom door, sleeping soundly.

He reaches his phone and finds a stack of text messages waiting for him.

 **Marius:** no offense but I’m trying to sleep could you keep it down? thx (:

 **Unknown:** Hi this is Musichetta. I got your number off Bossuet. Thanks for the lovely party xx

 **Joly:** how is the party?  
 **Joly:** hello?  
 **Joly:** u all alright? i’m not getting a response from any of you

 **Bossuet:** Joly’s getting worried are all of u okay?

 **Combeferre:** apparently you’re not replying to anyone’s texts, but i suppose you’ve just had too much to drink. we need to discuss your birthday parties.

 **Enjolras:** I left early this morning. Combeferre and I want a word later, if your brain has recovered by then.

 **Jehan:** I think we need to talk.

Courfeyrac swallows at the last one. He walks over to Jehan’s bedroom door and carefully knocks on the pane.

“Come in,” says Jehan’s voice.

Courfeyrac walks in awkwardly. Jehan is sitting in a pair of harem pants on his bed with a glass of water. He looks up as Courfeyrac comes in.

“How much of last night do you remember, Courf?” he asks.

Courfeyrac shrugs. “A little? I mean, I remember the movie and the food and Grantaire dressing up as fucking Marie Antoinette and then Bahorel’s dumb game-” he breaks off, suddenly remembering.

“Next time you want to drunkenly grope all of our friends with me in the room, please don’t do it where I can see.” Jehan’s voice is cold.

“I… I… we’re not a thing, Jehan. Shit, that sounded wrong. Uh, okay. Cards on the table. I like you. I _really_ like you, and I’ve been wanting to ask you out for forever, and I’m so, _so_ sorry about last night okay because that was a mistake.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot, Courf? I know you like me, you’re not exactly subtle, and I’m flattered that you want to take me out on dates and stuff. I think… I think I like you as well. But when you suddenly make out and grope everyone else in the room as well, suddenly I’m not so sure that you actually want to be with me for non-selfish reasons.”

“I don’t understand,” stammers Courfeyrac. He feels his heart dropping slowly in his chest.

“So what is it? Do you just want to sleep with me? Is that it? Are you pretending to be interested in me romantically just to get in my pants?”

“Jehan, that’s not it at all, please.”

“Look, I’m just angry right now, okay? Just go away, Courf. I’ll be fine in a bit. I know we were all drunk, and I know that you probably didn’t mean any of the stuff you did, but I’m not going to pretend that I’m not angry about the fact that it happened, okay?”

“Okay,” replies Courfeyrac numbly.

Jehan looks at him and sighs audibly, before slipping off the bed and making his way over to where Courfeyrac is standing near the doorway, picking at his fingernails. He takes one of Courfeyrac’s wrists in his hand, and squeezes.

“I’m sorry,” Jehan says. “I’m just angry that all that stuff happened last night. Why don’t we just… leave each other alone for a bit and let it simmer down?”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac says. “I think you’re right.”

He leaves Jehan’s room, throws himself down onto his bed and breathes. Then he sends a text.

 **Courfeyrac:** will you go out with me? will you let me make it up to you?  
 **Jehan:** Ask me that again when you actually mean it, and i’ll consider it. 

Courfeyrac throws his phone across the room and buries his face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I hate all these assholes I can't help it.  
> Jehan does not like to be messed around with but he's also a gentle soul so he's the king at giving people second chances.
> 
> ...I really love Jean Prouvaire.
> 
> Also I apologize for the wait. I've been having a bit of a hard time recently and I've also been writing another longer fic (unrelated to this verse) which has been sucking up quite a bit of my time as well.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading/Merci de lire.
> 
> For fic notes, drabbles, questions and possible spin offs, hit me up at [tumblr](combeferresque.tumblr.com).


	3. who gives a damn about the family you come from

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Courfeyrac and Jehan make up, everything goes wrong for Éponine and Grantaire, and Combeferre is starting to have a romantic crisis.

“Courfeyrac, get up.” He can hear Enjolras’ voice, but he ignores it.

“Courf.” This time it’s Combeferre.

“Go away,” Courfeyrac mumbles, burying his face further into his pillow. He feels the covers being ripped away and flinches at the sudden coolness on his legs.

“Courfeyrac. I’m going to count to ten.” It’s Enjolras again.

“How did you two even get in here?”

“Marius let us in,” replies Combeferre. Courfeyrac feels a slight dip on one side of his mattress and looks up to see Combeferre sitting down next to him. “And we know what happened with Jehan.”

Courfeyrac pushes himself up with his elbows and swears colourfully at Enjolras and Combeferre in the little Spanish he knows. Neither of the two speak it but it’s fairly obvious what he is saying, and Enjolras sits down heavily in the chair at his desk.

“Look. The four of us— you, me, 'Ferre and Jehan— have known each other the longest. And now you and Prouvaire are pursuing a romantic relationship. The fact remains that he knows your habits and your… uh, tendency to. Well, you know. And he knows you’re a good person, Courf. And both 'Ferre and I think that he does love you, but… you just need to be careful. Careful that you don’t give off the impression that he’s nothing more than another conquest for you.”

“I know,” groans Courfeyrac from the bed. He shifts to go and put on some pants, and Combeferre lets him pass. “He told me that he liked me back.”

“Then that’s wonderful,” says Combeferre. “But you don’t look happy about it.”

“We both like each other. We both want to be with each other. But I’m a spectacular failure in showing it, and if I keep messing up like this, sooner or later he’s going to close himself off completely.”

“Then you need to make sure that doesn’t happen,” says Enjolras firmly.

“Since when did you become a love advice column? Last time I checked, you didn’t have a love life,” snaps Courfeyrac. Enjolras’ face falls for the briefest of moments, before shifting back into his standard solemn expression.

“We’re just trying to help, Courf. And my love life is none of your business.”

“Then why is mine yours and 'Ferre’s business?”

“Because you’re so goddamn dramatic about it.”

“Well,” began Combeferre, rising to his feet, “I’d better be off. Joly and I are going golfing.”

There’s a pause.

“Golfing?” asks Courfeyrac. “What are you two? Old grandpas?”

“Nothing wrong with golfing,” replies Combeferre, “it’s a peaceful and worthy sport, and goodness knows we both need the relaxation time, dealing with all the rest of you and your melodramatics.”

Courfeyrac flips him the bird as he walks out the door, and Enjolras pretends he’s not laughing.

 

* * *

 

Marius and Cosette are sitting down at Musain with a cup of coffee and a slice of cake each when Joly appears through the door. As soon as he sees them, he jogs up to their table.

“Are Combeferre and Éponine a thing?” he demands, without even a ‘hello’ or a ‘how are you’.

Marius half chokes on his coffee and Cosette only raises one eyebrow.

“Oh come on, please tell me I’m not the only one who’s starting to suspect it,” adds Joly.

“Oh I’ve been suspecting it for a while,” replies Cosette carefully, and Marius stops wiping his mouth with his napkin to look at her in surprise.

“Éponine’s dating that Montparnasse guy though isn’t she?” asks Marius.

“Oh Montparnasse is an idiot,” dismisses Cosette with a wave of her hand. “Combeferre’s a better fit for her, and sooner or later she’ll realise it. And sooner or later he’ll realise he likes her back.”

Joly flops himself down at the table, pulling his hat off.

“Anyway, what brought this on?” Cosette asks.

“I was out with 'Ferre and he just… wouldn’t shut up about her. Not like in a Courfeyrac way with Jehan, where he goes on and on… but like, he mentioned her more than would be normal for a Combeferre way, and I began to suspect.”

“And you came all the way here to ask us?” asks Marius.

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” says Joly. “I just wanted a coffee badly.” And he gets up again to go to the counter.

“Your friends are really weird sometimes,” whispers Cosette. And Marius just shrugs. And then pulls out his phone when it goes off.

 **Courfeyrac:** my dear pontmercy friend, i need a favour. I need you to persuade cosette to go out with jehan next week wed, and you need to help me with something. and then when jehan returns you need to be out of the house.  
 **Marius:** What is this for?  
 **Courfeyrac:** the course of true love.

Marius looks up from his phone.

“Is everything alright?” asks Cosette, taking his hand gently in hers.

“Cosette,” he begins, “would you like to help me and Courf with something?”

 

* * *

 

Cosette can be incredibly persuasive when she wants to, and when Jehan returns Wednesday from his outing with her Cosette at the park, snapping photographs of birds and discussing in great length the languages of Middle-Earth, it’s to the apartment completely empty save Courfeyrac sitting on the couch, a large spread of cakes and tea and little candied fruits on the coffee table in front of him, like something out of _Marie Antoinette_. Marius is nowhere to be seen.

“Hello, Courfeyrac. Where’s Marius? What’s all this?” he gestures towards the coffee table.

“You make coffee for us every morning without fail, you’re a wonderful roommate, you’re beautiful and intelligent and at the same time fierce as _fuck_ , and I love you. And I know I’m a terrible idiot who’s slept with too many people including a few of our friends and I just want you to know that I’m sorry. And this is for you. And I want to ask if you want to watch _The Little Mermaid_ with me.”

Jehan regards him for a moment, before bursting into a deep peal of laughter.

“Oh my god, Courf. You’re terrible, you know that?” And he practically launches himself onto the sofa, squashing Courfeyrac against the armrest. They pretend wrestle for a bit, before one of Jehan’s feet gets a well-placed kick straight into Courfeyrac’s groin, and Courfeyrac falls onto the ground gasping.

“Oh goodness are you okay?” comes Jehan’s panicked voice.

“I’m fine…” gasps Courfeyrac, clutching the front of his jeans, eyes screwed shut.

“Well, that’s your punishment for the aftermath of the birthday party. And-” Jehan leans down from the sofa to give Courfeyrac a quick peck on the tip of his nose, “you’re forgiven. But no more sleeping with our friends if you’re going to be with me.”

Courfeyrac stops squirming and opens his eyes.

“You’re saying yes?”

“I’ve been wanting to say yes for a long time, Courf. But now I think we’re both ready.” And Jehan kisses Courfeyrac, and Courfeyrac kisses Jehan back, and smiles.

“Now,” says Jehan, sitting back up again, “let’s put on this movie. I want to sing along with Ursula.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Jehan is lying next to Courfeyrac in Courfeyrac’s bed, gently stroking his arm and watching as Courfeyrac blows out a lungful of smoke.

“I thought you didn’t smoke.”

“Took a pack off Bahorel once when he wasn’t looking. Besides, I’ve just managed to get the man of my dreams at last, even after being a complete dickwad about it. I want a smoke.”

“Ah.” Jehan continues watching Courfeyrac for a moment. “Courf?”

“Yeah?”

“You said earlier that you’d slept with some of our friends. Who?”

“Well technically, I’ve slept in the same bed as Marius, 'Ferre and Bahorel. I’ve only actually had sex with Feuilly. It was only once, and we were both drunk. I don’t actually know if he remembers it actually, he was a bit out of it.”

“I see. Let me have some of that.” Jehan sits up, reaching out his hand. Courfeyrac passes him the cigarette, watching his wyvern tattoo shift with the movement. He’s spent the past hour mapping out all the tattoos on Prouvaire’s skin, and there are more than he had originally thought. Besides the one on his wrist, he has a verse of poetry from an author he doesn’t recognize down the top of his right thigh, a small flock of deer jumping across his lower back, and a star on one ankle, usually hidden by his socks.

“Put the cigarette down, Jehan,” he says suddenly. Jehan stops smoking.

“What is it?”

“I don’t want to set the bed on fire.” And no sooner has Jehan set the cigarette down on a small plate on the nightstand than Courfeyrac tackles him down onto the bed again, kissing his neck.

“Courf,” he gasps, “ _stop it,_ oh God that-” and then Courfeyrac has started tickling his sides, and he breaks off into laughter and frantic squirming.

Courfeyrac laughs and buries his face in Jehan’s hair.

 

* * *

 

At that same time, Combeferre is out with Bossuet and Bahorel, making their way down to get late night milkshakes.

“Any news on the Courfeyrac-Jehan situation?” asks Bossuet.

“Oh from what I heard when Courfeyrac butt-dialed me earlier, it was going very well,” says Combeferre dryly, and Bahorel laughs.

“Well you know what? Good for them.” And in response Combeferre only shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and doesn’t think about long brown hair.

“You alright, 'Ferre?” asks Bossuet suddenly, noticing his discomfort. Bahorel stops walking and turns to look at him.

“Yeah,” replies Combeferre. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He thinks about Bossuet and Joly with Musichetta, thinks of Courfeyrac with Jehan, of Marius with Cosette, of Feuilly and Bahorel fighting on the couch, and even of Enjolras and Grantaire staring each other down at the party, both in ridiculous costumes.

He buys himself a strawberry milkshake and doesn’t think about Éponine.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire is a man who takes great deal to not believe in anything. Or at least, he tries. No, scratch that. Past tense now. _Tried._ Now he’s managed to practically confess everything to the man he admires (likes? loves?), all while they were both relatively drunk at a party, and then managed to fall asleep on him.

In retrospect, it’s not a surprise that when he woke up the next morning, Enjolras wasn’t there. He wouldn’t have wanted to stay if he were in his position.

And now they fucking work together, so he can’t even try to salvage the small remaining part of his dignity by carefully avoiding him for the rest of his life.

At his small apartment, lying on his stained mattress, the smell of paint thick and cloying in his nostrils, Grantaire groans.

He’d tried to get to know him. He tried and then fucked it up. He’d painted Enjolras. Painted him and then sprayed over it after they’d argued. He didn’t even know where they stood at this point. Did Enjolras even like him? Was he just tolerating him? Was it all an act? It was like something out of a fucking soap opera.

Whatever it was, Grantaire knew he wanted to paint him again. Not from a can on the wall, but on canvas. On that canvas he had never used.

He pulls himself up and flops down in front of it. He can see the lines now, curving their way across the blank expanse of white. Who told God he could create such a beautiful creature, and then put him down on this earth just within his grasp, and yet fucking miles away?

It’s in that moment that Grantaire realises he’s in love with Enjolras.

And just as he has his revelation, there’s a knock at the door.

He opens it. It’s Enjolras.

Sometimes Grantaire is convinced the world is shitting on him.

“Look, before you say anything,” Enjolras begins. “I think we need to sit down and talk about several things.”

“Good idea,” replies Grantaire, and shuts the door in Enjolras’ face. He opens it again a second later, and Enjolras has a confused expression on his face.

“Well come in then, Apollo.”

“Oh. I sort of wanted to talk to you away from here.”

“Remember what happened the last time we went out to talk?”

Enjolras flinches slightly. “Yeah. I do. But please, do this for me?”

And how can Grantaire refuse?

They end up just walking around Grantaire’s neighbourhood, Enjolras wearing one of Grantaire’s hoodies with it drawn up over his hair, because ‘you’re certain to get jumped in this neighbourhood, blondie.’

“Since we’ve met, we’ve… well, we’ve had quite a few ups and downs.” Enjolras starts.

“No shit,” snorts Grantaire, and wishes he had a bottle of something. Or a joint.

“Would you take this seriously?” snaps Enjolras, and Grantaire stops.

“Sorry.”

“No it’s my fault, I… I’m a bit snappish and I can be standoffish and I know I have a grating and serious personality. And I wanted to apologize for being a bit rude since the beginning. And I wanted to know if we could, like, start again?”

“Start again?” Grantaire doesn’t quite believe what his ears are feeding to his brain. “As in pretend that none of the shit we’ve managed to do to each other counts?”

“Sort of. More like, accepting that we have severely clashing personalities and try to put them aside for the sake of…”

“Of friendship,” Grantaire finishes.

“If you want it.”

“I’m sorry too, you know,” Grantaire says, sticking his hands into his pockets. “I’m cynical and blunt and quite often rude.”

“You’re also a hard worker. I would know, I work with you.” And it looks like Enjolras is smiling.

Perhaps this is all a hilarious dream and Grantaire’s about to wake up.

“Very well, Apollo. Let’s start again.”

“I can’t guarantee we won’t get into more arguments, and I can’t guarantee that I won’t get angry at you from time to time but I can… I can try.”

He really _is_ dreaming.

He’s got to be, because somehow he can smell smoke.

Grantaire jolts awake with a start. He’s only in a shirt and his boxers but he’s sweating furiously, his room is stifling hot, and there’s someone banging at the door.

He pushes himself up from his mattress, stumbling towards his front door. When he yanks it open Éponine is there, her hair a mess, holding a small bag stuffed to the brim.

“'Ponine, what the hell’s going on-”

“The building’s on fire!” she shouts, pushing past him and running towards his bedroom. “Downstairs. Come on, grab some stuff and get out of here!”

Fire.

_Fire._

Grantaire runs after her, grabbing as much as he can and shoving it into his duffel bag. Suddenly, there is the sound of a car engine revving furiously outside, and Éponine curses.

“What is it?” shouts Grantaire. Éponine sticks her head out of the open window.

“It’s fucking 'Parnasse!” she yells back, “thinks it’s a fucking joke to burn shit down, that fucking _fucker!_ God, when I get my hands on him-”

“Shut up and help me with this!” And Grantaire is maneuvering his mattress towards the window.

“What in the name of hell R-”

“You said it was downstairs. We can’t get down the stairs then. I’m going to throw my mattress out the window, and you’re going to jump out.”

“Like hell I am!”

Grantaire grabs her by the shoulders.

“Éponine. You’re my best friend, I trust you and you trust me, and you’re going to do what I say, okay?”

She nods, numbly. Grantaire moves to the window and launches the mattress out of it. It lands next to a pile of trashcans, and he throws his bag out after it.

“Go!” he shouts. Éponine runs to the window, tosses her bag out, and clambers out the window.

Grantaire can feel the heat in the building increasing, can hear the distant sirens wailing, can feel the sweat pouring down his back, down his bare legs.

He looks out of the window to see Éponine, dishevelled but otherwise fine, picking herself off the mattress and making frantic hand movements.

Grantaire closes his eyes. And jumps.

He feels like Icarus, too close to the sun. Falling.

He opens his eyes just in time to see Montparnasse in his Ferrari, laughing from behind the steering wheel.

“Whoops!” he shouts. “Looks like there was a little accident!”

“You fucking shit!” Éponine yells. “When I get my hands on you-”

“Oh by the way, we’re done here honey.” And Montparnasse drives off. Éponine makes a move to run after him, but Grantaire grabs her arms.

“I need your phone.”

She stops for a second. Grantaire repeats his sentence. And then Éponine is pressing her cellphone into his hand.

He calls Feuilly, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Hello?”

“It’s R. I need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just say that I know nothing about cars, so giving Montparnasse a Ferrari was the simplest option. He's also head of a criminal underworld and a stone cold psycho, so he has no qualms about setting his now ex-girlfriend's apartment building on fire.
> 
> I'm also not sorry for the Enjolras-Grantaire bit. I did originally have Enjolras talking to him for real, but I'm trying so hard to keep this in-character, and in canon Enjolras only really notices Grantaire in order to treat him with distain, so... there we go.
> 
> At least Jehan and Courfeyrac are now together, right? /dodges flying tomatoes
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading/Merci de lire.
> 
> For fic notes, drabbles, questions and possible spin offs, hit me up at [tumblr](combeferresque.tumblr.com).


	4. no giving up when you're young and you want some

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which (most) things get resolved.

Éponine wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, with the familiar sound of Grantaire snoring beside her.

She pulls herself up so she’s sitting with her back against the pillow. She’s in a bed decorated with red sheet covers, and on the floor beside her Grantaire is zipped up like a scruffy worm in a sleeping bag. She looks around, trying to work out whose room this could be. The walls are white but covered from ceiling to floor in sheets of paper. Notes, diagrams, math equations, even a few sketches it looks like. And there’s a gigantic Polish flag next to the closet door.

Ah. Feuilly’s.

She drags herself out of bed, and her groggy legs nearly trip over Grantaire in the sleeping bag. He shifts in his sleep.

“'Ponine?” his voice is thick.

“Morning, R.”

Making her way downstairs, she’s greeted by the sight of Bossuet, Feuilly, Bahorel, Combeferre and Enjolras sitting around the kitchen table with mugs of tea and coffee. Bossuet is on the phone, and Combeferre looks up when she enters.

“Good morning, Éponine. Sleep well?”

“As well as can be, I suppose. Thanks for the bed, Feuilly.”

Feuilly inclines his head. He’s wearing a ridiculous straw knitted cap on his head. “Anytime.”

“No word on Montparnasse,” Enjolras is saying to Combeferre. “But hopefully they’ll catch him soon.”

“So what’s the situation?” Éponine asks, sitting down at the table. Bahorel gets up to fetch her a cup of coffee.

Combeferre turns to face her. “Here’s the situation. You and R are now both temporary homeless. I would offer my place, and Jehan, Courfeyrac and Marius are offering any help they can, but the fact remains that neither of us have any room and we don’t think you would take too kindly to rooming with three other men. That’s why Feuilly’s is also out of the question. However…”

“Grantaire will have to stay with Feuilly,” says Enjolras. “You already offered once, didn’t you?” Feuilly nods.

“So what is this?” Éponine asks. “I’m going to turn myself out onto the street, is that it?”

“Nothing of the sort,” says Combeferre. “Cosette has graciously offered her house to you. Apparently her father has consented to the idea as well.”

“Cosette.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t like charity.”

“R said the same thing before. But it’s either that or the streets, or… I don’t even know. Your parents?”

“I am not going back there,” Éponine snorts into her cup of coffee. Bahorel hasn’t put any cream or sugar in it and it’s hot and black and bitter. Just what she needs right now. “Over my dead body.”

“It’s settled then, isn’t it?” Combeferre leans back in his chair.

“Joly is offering to check you and Grantaire over for any fire related injuries,” says Bossuet, putting his cellphone down, “but I said you’re probably fine.”

“I’m fine,” replies Éponine. “We got out fairly quick anyway.”

“What even happened?” asks Enjolras.

Éponine sighs and traces the circle of the rim with one finger. Combeferre is staring at her. “Montparnasse was over that night. We were talking, you know. Then he got a little bit angry. We argued for a bit, and I told him to go. So he did. Then I guess he must have come back with his friends. He’s always been a litle bit… I noticed the smell of smoke, and ran to get R. I knew he was upstairs.”

“I’m glad you did,” replies Enjolras softly.

Grantaire appears in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” they all reply in unison. When Grantaire looks up and sees Enjolras, he freezes for a moment, before suddenly Feuilly is pushing a mug into his hands. “What’s this?”

“Coffee. Drink it; you look like you need it.”

Grantaire takes a sip and makes a face, before walking over to the counter to find some sugar.

“I guess I’m gonna have to take you up on that offer then, Feuilly,” he murmurs.

 

* * *

 

Cosette arrives later in a little red mini cooper to pick up Éponine. Marius is sitting in the back seat. When Cosette sees her single bag, she looks downcast for a moment, before eagerly exclaiming, “I think it’s time we go shopping! Marius will carry all our heavy stuff, won’t you Marius?”

Marius nods meekly.

“Wait,” Cosette continues, “you don’t have work today, do you?”

“It’s Enjolras’ shift today,” Grantaire calls back. Éponine shoots Grantaire a glance, before they’re all back in the car and they drive off down the road.

“You should tell her how you feel,” says Grantaire quietly, as Combeferre watches the car vanish. Combeferre practically jumps.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yeah. Yeah it is.” Grantaire smiles sadly.

Feuilly disappears to work, and Combeferre drives Enjolras back home, leaving only Bahorel and Bossuet to help Grantaire with his things.

“Feuilly and Bossuet have the two upstairs bedrooms,” Bahorel says, as he attempts to straighten the sheets on his bed. Grantaire is standing in the doorway leaning on the frame, and Bossuet is manoeuvering a lamp down the stairs into the basement, without much luck. “And you get to be with me down here in the damp, dark basement.”

“Doesn’t look that bad,” smiles Grantaire, before he dashes off to help Bossuet before he trips and breaks his neck. “How’s the rent?”

“Feuilly’s pretty good about it actually,” huffs Bossuet from behind the lamp, “$600 a month standard. And that includes the internet, water, electricity, etc. because, in his own words, "I’m the only one who can be trusted to pay the damn bills in this house anyway." So we just give him the money and he sorts the rest of it out.”

“Sounds fair. How he’d even get this place?”

“He works. And works and works,” laughs Bahorel. “How are you with chores?”

“Chores? Is there like, a chore-wheel or something similar?”

Bossuet grins, “we did have one. Until one morning it was destroyed in a tragic accident and so now it’s mostly whoever gets pissed off with the mess cleans it up. Which ends up being Feuilly half the time. And sometimes me, after I’ve been spending too much time with Joly.”

“Accident.”

“Yeah it was terrible,” replies Bahorel. “I set it on fire.”

 

* * *

 

 **Enjolras:** I find myself turning into you. In other words I’m bored at work please keep me company.  
 **Grantaire:** ur kidding rite  
 **Enjolras:** No? Why would I be?  
 **Grantaire:** feuilly, bossuet, bahorel and i r going 2 ikea for sum cheap furniture  
 **Enjolras:** …You traitors.  
 **Grantaire:** wat  
 **Enjolras:** They know I don’t support Ikea. They’re not supposed to support it either.  
 **Grantaire:** thats all v. well and good but they have cheap furniture and $1 hotdogs so ur point is invalid  
 **Enjolras:** Ugh don’t remind me of that nasty food.  
 **Grantaire:** ill bring u one back  
 **Enjolras:** Don’t you even dare.

 

* * *

 

Combeferre sits in his bedroom. Enjolras is at work, Feuilly, Bahorel, Bossuet and Grantaire are off at Ikea, Courfeyrac and Jehan have gone to watch a movie and get dinner, Joly and Muschietta are having a date, and according to the text message he’s just received on his phone, Cosette and Marius are moving furniture into Éponine’s new room.

And for a moment, he feels a little lonely. Suddenly, his phone goes off.

 **Éponine:** Its exhausting watching them work  
 **Combeferre:** i can imagine.  
 **Éponine:** Cosette’s being awfully nice about it all. She says i should go out for the evening while she and marius sort stuff out. I wish marius would do that kind of thing for me without her pushing him to.  
 **Combeferre:** i’m sure he would. marius is a good guy.  
 **Éponine:** Yeah. Yeah he is. Not like 'parnasse.  
 **Combeferre:** he’s the past. don’t think about him. the police will catch him soon.  
 **Éponine:** Now she’s physically shooing me out the door. I don’t have anywhere 2 go though. U busy?  
 **Combeferre:** i’m not actually. want to do something?  
 **Éponine:** That’d be great.

They end up going down to Café Musain, because a movie seems too close to Courfeyrac and Jehan’s date, and Combeferre isn’t going down that route. Just yet.

Éponine sits down with a mug of coffee and they chat. About Combeferre’s studies, about her studies, about his family. About her family. She ends up telling him a lot about herself, and Combeferre thinks that he’s the only one, besides Grantaire, who knows all this.

But whether it’s because she wants to get to know him better, or if she just sees him as a trustworthy friend, he doesn’t know.

He’s driving her back to Cosette’s place, when suddenly she says, “go down that road.”

He does it without thinking. And then they’re sitting in a quiet car down an empty street and Combeferre isn’t sure why.

“Éponine?”

She looks uncomfortable.

“'Ferre, can I ask you something?”

It’s the first time she’s called him that.

“Yes.”

“Do you… do you like me?”

He stops breathing for a moment.

“I’m sorry if that sounds forward, uh, I-”

“I do. I like you very much, Éponine.”

“The reason I ask is… well. Montparnasse, and all the boyfriends I’ve had before him. I just… I never felt like I was worth anything to them. Except physically. And I don’t… I don’t want to… I think I like you, 'Ferre. But I’m not sure.”

He’s not sure whether to feel insulted or not. Clearly it shows on his face, because Éponine continues quickly, “Okay, look. I’ve had a lot of boyfriends. And they’ve all ended badly. And the only guy in my life who really cares about me is R. And then suddenly I meet the rest of you and _you,_ especially, Combeferre, and part of my brain is telling me that this is your chance to meet someone new, but part of me is worried that the same thing will happen again, and-” she stops and breaks off, uncomfortable.

Combeferre takes a deep breath. “I won’t hide my feelings from you, 'Ponine. I like you. But I respect you as well, and if you don’t want to be with me, then I will respect that. Please inform me if I have been disrespectful in my actions in any way.”

“You haven’t,” she blurts out. “I _want_ to like you. I really do. It helps get my mind off… no, that sounds awful. Oh Jesus.”

“You like Marius, don’t you?”

She sighs deeply. “I do. I have for a while. But he’s with Cosette. And I need to let him go.”

“I don’t want to be your second option, Éponine.”

“I wouldn’t want you to. It wouldn’t be fair. I just… need more time to think about us, and a possible relationship.”

“Take all the time you need. I’ll always be here for you. As friends or… as anything more.”

Éponine smiles broadly, and it’s one of the most beautiful things Combeferre has ever seen.

“Thank you 'Ferre. You’re a good friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news, I've actually got the rest of this verse all planned out, including the end. And it'll be painful to let them all go, but all good things must come to an end.
> 
> ...not that this fic is good or anything.
> 
> But now that everything's planned out, I can actually tell you all with certainty what will happen in the next part. So the next part will be Feuilly/Bahorel. All of it.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading/Merci de lire.
> 
> For fic notes, drabbles, questions and possible spin offs, hit me up at [tumblr](http://combeferresque.tumblr.com).


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